


Two

by ZeroNoons



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Feels, Derek Hale Feels Guilty, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Derek Hale is a Softie, Derek Hale is trying his best, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Light Angst, Mates, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott McCall is a Bad Friend, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Feels, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles Stilinski Has Anxiety, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad at Feelings, The Alpha Pack, Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes Live, Werewolf Mates, a lot of these tags happen as the story progresses, and then progresses, can be read as, eventually, kind of, no identifying marks tho, partly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroNoons/pseuds/ZeroNoons
Summary: Stiles couldn’t recall how it happened exactly. It wasn’t sudden, but a steady development over a longer while. Sure, in the beginning he’d been moderately scared of Derek, to put it nicely. Later on, though, looking back on the start of their relationship, he understood better why Derek did the things he did. The first shift in behavior happened during the summer. From then it just progressed.orBasically all my headcanon's about how the story should've gone, summarized. Post-Season 2 Finale until the end and possibly beyond.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 150





	1. Sweetheart, You Look A Little Tired

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently re-watching Teen Wolf with my mom and couldn't stop myself from writing an alternative story according to how I want it to have happened, once again.  
> Too many Sterek feels.  
> Let's hope this doesn't end up abandoned.
> 
> >tagged as underage because Stiles is 17 in the beginning
> 
> Not Beta-read. If there are volunteers, feel free to let me know.  
> Suggestions are always appreciated. English isn't my native language so please correct me if you find errors.
> 
> Possibly OOC at some points, sorry for that. I tried to keep the story as close to canon as possible.
> 
> Titles from the song Two by Sleeping At Last because it makes me cry in a good way.  
> Enjoy :)

Stiles couldn’t recall how it happened exactly. It wasn’t sudden, but a steady development over a longer while. Sure, in the beginning he’d been moderately scared of Derek, to put it nicely. Later on, though, looking back on the start of their relationship, he understood better why Derek did the things he did. And Stiles felt sorrier than he would ever be able to convey.

Back during the mess with Peter, Derek hadn’t had time to mourn his sister. His supposedly last relative left alive. He’d had no one except her back then. Until she was taken away from him, too. And the little bit of grief he’d been able to express for her was destroyed by none other than Scott and... Stiles himself.

He could still kick his own ass for that one now.

While the disaster with Jackson and Gerard went down, yes, Derek had been an egotistical douchebag, but much of that had stemmed from his fear of other rivaling packs. That still didn’t mean it was a good decision to turn outcast teenagers into werewolves, but it had been the quickest and easiest way to build a pack, Stiles supposed.

If he had to pinpoint a moment in which he realized their attitudes towards each other changed, he’d say the night in the pool.

Derek had been right with the fact that they didn’t trust each other. What he wasn’t right about was the reason he assumed Stiles was keeping him alive for. Yes, he needed Derek, but even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have let him drown. That was when Stiles realized just how little Derek trusted him. And that was when he decided to prove to the werewolf that he was worth trusting. He’d then begun to question his own mistrust towards Derek.

Stiles wasn’t sure whether Derek had changed his opinion after he had dragged him back up and held him above the water for two hours, but he hoped it had made the werewolf question his beliefs about him.

* * *

The first shift in behavior happened during the summer after.

Stiles would’ve never told Scott, but he had been upset for quite some time after they’d sorted everything out with Gerard. Why hadn’t Scott told him about his plan? Even though he hadn’t had an active part in it, usually he and Scott told each other everything. As long as no one close to Gerard himself or Jackson would’ve found out, there had been no reason to keep it a secret from everyone.

Stiles even thought that maybe Derek would’ve been more agreeable if he’d been included. Plus, Scott would’ve spared the Alpha a lot of unnecessary fear. Instead Stiles’ supposedly best friend had told him “you may be an alpha, but you’re not mine”. Which was probably the most uncalled-for macho thing Scott had ever said. Just because Derek had been tripping on his newly found power in the beginning, Scott didn’t have to jump on the bandwagon as well, now, did he?

Things just changed with Scott. Only a tiny bit, and not enough that anyone else noticed, but it still bugged Stiles.

And while Scotty was busy building up his ego after the thing with Derek and the breakup with Allison, Stiles found himself unintentionally drawn closer to Derek’s pack. Just small things at first, but a summer is long when your best friend decides to remodel half of his behavior all of a sudden.

Funnily enough, it was mostly Gerard’s fault that Stiles spoke more with Derek and Isaac in one evening than he had the entire previous week with Scott, who, after Jackson had come back from the dead a second time, had only given Stiles an affirmative nod before disappearing somewhere with Allison.

The minutes after everything was over were fuzzy and vague in Stiles’ mind, several voices asking about injuries, checking with each other whether everyone was okay. Someone had brought Jackson a pair of sweatpants; was it Argent? Stiles wasn’t sure. But he saw him exchange a few words with Derek, probably the most peaceful interaction they’d ever had with each other, before he got in his car and drove off, maybe to pick up Allison. Or maybe he would wait outside in case they still needed him, who knew?

Stiles wondered how everyone would get home. Derek and Peter had probably come on foot. But Isaac, Lydia and Jackson? He also wasn’t sure what Scott was doing now. Maybe he assumed they would be okay.  
Apparently, he’d been pretty deep inside his own mind, as suddenly he felt a strong hand carefully grip his shoulder.

“Hey, Stiles.”

“What?” he looked around to be met by Derek’s questioning gaze. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Derek seemed to scrutinize him, before answering, “You seemed to zone out a bit, there. Are you okay? What happened with your face?”

Stiles only now realized that he was sitting on the floor with his back leaning against one of the support beams and Derek kneeling next to him.

“My- oh, that. Nothing. It… it’s nothing. It’s not from today. I’m- I’m fine. How about you guys?”

He knew he was blabbering but couldn’t find it in himself to care. Hastily, he started to push himself up from where he sat and Derek pulled him along with the hand he’d previously had on Stiles’ shoulder now gripping his elbow.

“We’re all okay. But if that’s not from today, what’s it from, then?”

Stiles was a bit surprised at Derek’s interest on the matter. But maybe his efforts to show the Alpha he cared hadn’t gone unnoticed after all and this was him reciprocating? Stiles was too tired to analyze all the possibilities now.

“Lacrosse. During the game…“ He started, but Derek wasn’t the type to enjoy embellished stories and the back of Stiles’ mind helpfully provided that Derek would maybe get suspicious if he heard him lying and the last thing Stiles wanted to do right now was explain the truth and why he lied about it.

“Well, never mind. Does anyone need a ride?” he asked a bit louder, so the others heard him. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him but tried to ignore how exposed it made him feel.

Lydia, Jackson and Isaac turned to face him. Peter was nowhere in sight.

“I’ll walk back with Derek. It’s only a couple minutes. But thanks.” Isaac answered, most of his wounds already healed by the looks of it.

Stiles nodded, then turned to Lydia. “I drove you here anyway, so it’s no problem to get you back home.”

She smiled, nodded. Finally, Stiles’ eyes landed on Jackson.

“And what are you gonna do now?”

Jackson looked like he was going to collapse and sleep for three years right where he stood. He also looked completely clueless as to what he was going to do now.

Derek stepped forward, letting go of Stiles’ arm. Neither of them had noticed that the contact had lasted that long.

“I think we all, especially you, Jackson, need rest first of all now. But I doubt you’d have much of that if you go home now, when your parents still think you’re dead.” He paused, appearing to think something over. “If you want to, you can crash at our place tonight and we’ll take care of everything tomorrow.”

Jackson contemplated the offer for a moment, then nodded, his expression grateful.

Neither had Stiles witnessed this level of kindness from Derek before, nor something like gratitude from Jackson. Maybe this whole shitshow had been good for something, at least. He decided he liked these new attributes in these two. A lot.

“Alright, then. Shall we?” Stiles gestured to his Jeep, desperate for some sleep. He turned towards the car to let Lydia and Jackson say their goodbyes for the night.

A couple minutes later, on the road to Lydia’s house, she asked, “Why did you lie?”

Stiles gave her a confused side-glance. “What do you mean?”

“When Derek asked you about the bruises.” She didn’t take her eyes off of him. He could almost feel her gaze burn into the side of his head. “You lied.”

He was torn between wanting to look at her to be able to guess where she was going with this and keeping his eyes on the road. Again, he chose a quick side-glance without moving his head. There was no getting past Lydia, but he could try.

“What do you mean? I got hurt at the game. I told you, it’s no big deal.”

“Yea…” Her tone had subtly shifted a bit in the sarcastic direction, “except when I left, I heard your dad telling someone on the phone that some guys from the other team beat you up after the game…”

Stiles swallowed and resisted the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel.

“Oh, well… during the game, after the game… doesn’t make much of a difference, does it? I mean, I don’t know how well you know Derek, but he’s not really one for tragic, heartfelt stories. I just wanted to spare him the boring details.”

After that, neither of them said anything else until the Jeep pulled up in front of Lydia’s house.

She opened the door, then paused. “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t have to lie to me.”

She looked at him empathically, then got out before he could come up with anything to say. With Lydia, he really should be used to that by now.

“Thanks for the ride. Good night, Stiles.”

“Of course, no problem. Good night.”

As he was driving home, Stiles couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d have a conversation like this.

* * *

In the afternoon of the next day, a Sunday, Stiles found himself sitting in his Jeep in front of a seemingly empty apartment building near the industrial district of Beacon Hills.

Scott had texted him he needed some alone time for now to take in the happenings of the past 24 hours and Stiles figured that was a reasonable measure.

He, on the other hand, had mentally dissected every little detail already the previous night and desperately craved some distraction to pull him out of his own thoughts. And after none of his usual methods like research and video games seemed to show the wanted effect, he had ended up at the loft with his laptop in his bag to offer his help in the search for Erica and Boyd. He once again had to thank his dad for unintentionally giving him information when he told Stiles that Isaac Lahey had come by the station yesterday morning to ask about them.

Considering he wasn’t part of the pack, Derek would probably just send him away again, but he could at least try.

As he was just about to knock on the heavy metal door, still unsure whether this was the right address, it slid open, revealing a confused looking Derek Hale.

So it was the right address, after all. Stiles couldn’t help but grin at his success, quickly stopped himself though.

“Hi! Hey, Derek.”

The Alpha narrowed his eyes at him, still holding the door.

“What do you want? And how did you even find this place?”

“Oh, nice to see you, too. Thanks. To answer your questions sequentially: I’m here to offer logistic support in the search for your lovely Beta’s – no sarcasm here, I’m serious – and I used some of my family-related insider knowledge plus Danny owed me a favor.”

Derek still looked skeptical. “You mean, you used your father’s passwords and blackmailed your friend – again – just to find my apartment?”

Stiles scrunched up his face, “When you put it like that, it does sound a bit sketchy, but I promise I only have the best intentions.”

Derek seemed to evaluate the situation. “You’re serious? You wanna help?”

Stiles let out a long breath, dropping the act. “Yes, I swear. I want to help you find them. That’s all.” He paused, looking at the floor. Maybe this had been a bad idea. “But if you… I mean… If you don’t want me to, I won’t bother you again.”

Another pause. Then, slowly, Derek pulled the door a bit farther open so Stiles could step through. He caught a glance at the smile that flicked over the boy’s face as he entered.

“Nice furniture. Somehow, I can’t imagine you shopping at Home Depot or IKEA or something, though.” Stiles mused as he looked around the room, filing away a thousand little details for later reference. Derek just gave his signature Hale eyeroll and went past the other to the table laden with a big map, a laptop and more papers.

Stiles followed him, taking his own computer out of his shoulder bag and placing it on one of the few free spots on the tabletop. “So, what’s the status? What have you got already?”

The next hour or so was spent catching each other up on progress already made, leads to follow, dead ends to identify. What they ended up with was next to nothing, though that didn’t deter Stiles one bit. Derek was a bit surprised but didn’t mention it.

Stiles was just saving the coordinates of the spots in which Derek, Peter and Isaac could last identify the scents of the two missing Beta’s in his computer, when Derek spoke up.

“Would you… care to tell me now where you got that bruise? Or should I just accept the lie you fed me last time and ignore it?”

Stiles’ rapid typing stopped, but he didn’t dare to look up at the other.

“I don’t…” he stopped himself, knowing that Derek would be able to tell right away if he lied again. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn’t even told Scott. Admittedly, Scott hadn’t asked. But something in his mind made his chest feel tight with shame at the thought of telling someone, especially his best friend or the Alpha. “Why do you even care? It’s not like it was a lethal injury. And I’m not part of your pack.”

Derek’s eyes didn’t leave him as the werewolf frowned, trying to decipher why this bitter scent wafted over to him.

“I don’t know.” He surprised himself with his honesty. “But something tells me it wasn’t just some minor conflict between teens. So, if this has something to do with the Jackson/Gerard mess, it feels like my business, pack or not.” A beat of silence. “Unless you and Scott already worked it out within… your pack.”

This made Stiles look up. “Our pack? You- Oh, because of what you said to Scott at his house? About him already being the Alpha of his own pack and stuff?”

Derek nodded, pretending to busy himself with organizing some of the notes. This entire situation felt off, but for some reason his instinct told him to keep pressing. And his instinct was the only thing he felt he could rely on at the moment.

Stiles let out an unamused huff, “Some Alpha…”

A quick look up confronted him with Derek’s raised eyebrows and politely inquisitive gaze. Fuck it, he thought. “As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t even know about the bruises.” Derek frowned again, opening his mouth to say something, but Stiles quickly continued: “You know what? It doesn’t matter. He had enough to deal with. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to reach me. I’m just being petty. Forget it.”

“But he didn’t even ask you what happened?”

“There wasn’t really time, you know, the whole mess with Jackson…”

“Then what about now?”

Stiles sighed again. “Well, he and Allison had to sort their shit out, he’s got to adjust. I’m fine, I’m okay. It doesn’t matter.”

He sounded tired, defeated. It struck something in Derek’s chest but he couldn’t quite place it.

“If it doesn’t matter then why are you so ashamed of it and insistent on keeping it secret?” Derek’s voice was soft, as if he were trying to avoid metaphorical landmines.

Stiles eyed him with hesitance, “You can smell that?”

“It’s subtle. Bitter. Don’t distract.”

“Will you keep it to yourself if I tell you?”

“If that’s what you want. Sure.”

There it was again. The question of trust between them. Derek had trusted him with helping in the search. He would trust Derek with this. It wasn’t his first leap of faith and it wouldn’t be his last.

“I’m sure you know that the Argents held Boyd and Erica captive before Gerard was… ‘defeated’ and they disappeared.”

Derek nodded. “I talked to Argent. They let them go. That’s the last time they were seen.”

“After the game… I don’t know who it was exactly, probably one of Gerard’s goons… they…” on the next word, Stiles cringed as if the embarrassment physically pained him. “…kidnapped me. Put me in the room where they kept them. Erica and Boyd, I mean. Then Gerard came down. And I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut so… he beat me up. Then let me go. Impressive story, I know.”

He had picked the typing back up, an indignant force in his movements making the clicks of the computer keys louder. His eyes were trained on the screen again.

“…I’m sorry.”

The clicking stopped again.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. That that happened. That it got so far.”

Stiles didn’t quite know what to make of that answer, it wasn’t at all what he expected. Finally, the anger at himself won over.

“Don’t be. It’s pathetic, I know. Which is why… I’d be very thankful if you kept it to yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

Stiles took in an audible breath in frustration, fists clenched. “Goddamn it, isn’t that obvious?” Suddenly, he felt more vulnerable than he had in a long time, in front of an intimidating Alpha werewolf no less.

“Getting kidnapped and beaten up? By some 90-year-old geezer? Who has cancer? Come on, Derek, even for some weak little human like me, that’s pathetic. Try telling that your best friend who probably could’ve knocked out whoever it was in a matter of seconds before anything would’ve even happened.”

“Stiles, that’s not… They’re hunters, they’ve been trained in combat for years, some even decades, to be able to fight supernatural creatures. Even Gerard, especially Gerard, is stronger and more cunning than he looks. It’s what they do. You’re a human, a teenager, who just happens to know about the shit that actually goes on in this town. That doesn’t have anything to do with being weak or strong.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other. This was probably the most the both of them had ever spoken to one another. If his mind hadn’t been busy trying to take in everything Derek just said, he would’ve joked about it.

Slowly, Stiles lowered his gaze, his jaw clenching. Derek’s words made sense, the rational part of his mind insisted, but his ribcage was still tight with humiliation. He felt too exposed. But his little rant had eased some weight out of his bones.

Derek sensed that it was better to leave the topic now. The discomfort radiating off the boy was almost palpable.

“The search will probably demand a lot of time and effort. Isaac, Peter and I can handle it on our own. You should concentrate on school and your friends now. It’s bad enough that I can’t keep Isaac from getting involved so much.” Derek said, careful not to let anything about the Alpha Pack slip. It was his problem and his alone. Or it should be.

“Are you saying that because you feel some sort of obligation or because you want to get rid of me?” Stiles’ expression was unreadable.

“I’m saying that because I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“And if I really want to help?”

The Alpha seemed to analyze everything his words, expression and scent could tell him, taking into consideration everything there was that the boy didn’t know. His instinct won over again.

“Then you know where I live.”

* * *

In the following days, things got better with Scott. They started hanging out again more, though half of Scott’s time was focused on his becoming-a-better-Scott program and his job, leaving plenty of time for Stiles to drop by Derek’s place every other day to help the pack.

He and Isaac were still on unsure ground with each other, but thanks to Derek expressing his trust, however little or much it was, for both of them equally, they came closer to each other little by little. Stiles still kept a certain amount of apprehension towards the Beta in the back of his mind, however.

If Peter had any strong feelings about Stiles joining them regularly, he kept them to himself, which one afternoon made Stiles idly wonder whether Derek had said something to him or if this indifference stemmed from Peter himself.

As time progressed, they started to run out of options. GPS searches Stiles tried were dead ends, just like the scent trails the werewolves had found in the beginning. It was like someone had cursed them. Every try ended in the woods a couple miles away from the Hale House.

While Isaac expressed his disappointment and frustration verbally, Derek continued to try to keep up his poker face. But even that crumbled a little more each time a try ended up unsuccessful. The number of angry growls and punches aimed at walls and trees increased, and Stiles felt affirmed in his theory that the Alpha cared way more than his cool attitude and rough façade let on.

The first solid proof in his argumentation was dated to a Thursday, the 23rd of June. Scott was working, and Isaac and Peter were at the preserve in another tiring attempt to find a new lead. Stiles had digitalized anything and everything they had so far. Derek was sitting on the couch with his laptop on his lap, going through it again, in case there was anything they’d missed.

Stiles could feel a weight manifesting in his stomach at the sight of the other’s eyes frantically scanning every word and picture several times and his fingers slowly moving over the touchpad, careful not to skip over anything. With a quiet sigh, Stiles turned back towards the table, where he’d laid out the photos taken by security cameras all over the town, showing figures that might or might not be Erica or Boyd, which he had printed out that morning.

A sudden, angry snarl from behind him made him flinch and look around. Derek had placed the computer on the coffee table and scrubbed his hands through his hair and down his face in agitation.

“We’re never gonna find them,” he said, his elbows propped up on his knees and his head leaning on his hands as they gripped his hair. Stiles watched him quietly, not used to this open expression of emotion by the werewolf, other than hate.

“Fuck. Fuck! If only I hadn’t-,” Derek stopped himself, whether it was because he realized Stiles was there or because of another reason, the boy wasn’t sure.

Then, for some unknown reason, Stiles’ feet swiftly carried him over to where Derek was sitting and he sat down next to him with only a little bit of hesitance, leaving a gap between them so as not to overstep any boundaries. The hand he placed on his shoulder was, as he hoped, firm yet gentle – reassuring, comforting.

He wasn’t sure when their relationship had changed so he had the courage to approach the Alpha like this, but when Derek, though going a tad rigid, didn’t pull away as if he’d been burned, Stiles thought he felt his own heartbeat find a steadier rhythm.

“It’s not your fault.” Stiles began, carefully choosing his words. Of course, the reasons for turning them in the first place were anything but selfless, and calling it responsible would be a total lie, but right now wasn’t the time for a moral speech.

“They didn’t regret it, I’m sure about that. You couldn’t have known about Gerard or Jackson. And you couldn’t have stopped them from leaving. You’re doing everything you can, even though they technically left the pack. Eventually, we’ll find them. I know it.”

At the pause that followed, Stiles thought he’d overstepped a boundary, after all. With bated breath, he waited for Derek to say something.

Finally, he did.

“How do you know that?”

“I just… I have this feeling. A pretty strong one. I know, feelings aren’t facts, but since it’s the only thing I have in this matter, I’m gonna hold on to it as long as I can.”

Ms. Morrell’s words after their conversation about the mechanisms of drowning echoed in the back of his mind.

“If you’re going through hell… keep going.”

Derek turned his head just enough so he could look at Stiles from the corner of his eye.

“…Winston Churchill?”

Stiles snapped out of his zoning-out to meet the other’s gaze.

“Yeah. Well…” He struggled with what to say, not used to having serious conversations with broody, intimidating werewolves who unexpectedly bared their emotions. “Once we find them, you can beat yourself up all you like, Mr. Alpha, but until then you have enough on your plate. So… no need to add to that, right?”

Derek turned away again, letting out a small, mildly amused exhale. Stiles filed this moment away in his mind as one of the rarest things he’d ever witnessed.

“I suppose.”

Stiles felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He gave Derek’s shoulder another squeeze before standing up.

“You probably already smelled it, but I brought some Mac and Cheese. Wanna take a break?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask.”


	2. I Don't Even Know Where To Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more snapshots of how they spend the summer and what it inevitably leads to when you've got two emotionally damaged idiots and an Alpha Pack at your back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the concept of mates, yay.  
> (Just in case I added the tag too late haha.)

They continued like that, and Stiles gradually felt less like an intruding outsider and more like a welcome part of the group, until he didn’t just come over every now and then but every free hour he wasn’t spending with Scott or his dad.

Of course, sometimes Isaac and Peter were there, too, though Stiles preferred the comfortable silence without any snide remarks from either of them. It almost seemed like there was less tension in the air.

Some curious-analytical part of Stiles’ brain suggested it may be because when they weren’t there, Derek didn’t have to present as the Alpha as much. Isaac (and technically Peter too, right?) was his Beta, so it was natural for Derek to act as a kind of authoritarian leader.

But Stiles was just… Stiles. Just a human boy, not part of the pack or anything. And even if Stiles could possibly portray some sort of potential threat, being in “Scott’s Pack” as Derek had said, well… both of them knew that there was no need for Derek to further intimidate the boy.

Another aspect of their evolving not-really-friendship was the routine that slowly manifested itself until neither of them questioned it. Depending on when Stiles would join, he would bring lunch or snacks, whereas Derek or Isaac, whoever was home at the time, took care of dinner. Peter usually excused himself from food duty but Stiles still didn’t trust him or anything he had his hands on anyway, so that was okay by him.

He still hadn’t told Scott about his new free-time-activity, for reasons he himself didn’t dare or couldn’t pinpoint yet. He just had this odd feeling that Scott and Derek were better off separated for the time being. This feeling had also fueled an interesting night of research about territorial behavior and power structures among wolves. Maybe he could use that knowledge to resolve conflict one day, who knew?

He also discovered that in terms of academics, Derek had far more to show than one would guess at first – or second – glance.

“Goddamn it, why don’t they ever write the source under these things?” Stiles had mumbled angrily one evening in late June, more to himself than anyone else, while leaning over his computer screen, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“What is it?” Derek asked, leaned against the table with a cup of coffee in hand. They hadn’t made much progress that day, but Stiles had put much effort into convincing them that optimism was the best strategy and they could always try again tomorrow, so Derek only felt a little guilty for not pulling through past midnight like he did most nights.

Stiles snapped out of his concentration, only now noticing the second, still steaming cup sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Gingerly, he reached for it. “Thanks. Um, I just stumbled over this quote, but when I was about to search for its source, my Wi-Fi connection got cut off.”

“What quote?”

Stiles took a sip. Milk, no sugar. He wondered when Derek had learned how he liked his coffee.

“’There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.’ You don’t happen to know who said that do you?”

He didn’t really expect an answer.

“…I think that was Sartre.”

Stiles’ gaze shot back up at the Alpha. “Sartre?”

Derek had crossed his arms in front of his chest, the hand holding his coffee raised halfway to his mouth.

“A French philosopher and the main representative of existentialism, lived during the 20th century.”

Stiles gaped at him. “I’ve heard of him before, I just… How do you just know quotes like that?”

Derek looked down at the floor and the continuing silence told Stiles that the answer to this question was too much personal information. Until Derek spoke again.

“Back in New York… I never liked the whole deadlines-and-grades aspect of school, but I was interested in topics like History, Philosophy, Literature… so my sister encouraged me to just sit in on classes I found interesting, anyway.”

Something about this moment felt inexplicably precious to Stiles and he felt a tinge of pride at the fact that he had gained enough of the werewolf’s trust for him to talk about something personal – not because it was relevant to stopping some rampaging monster but just because he could and wanted to.

“So, is existentialism a favorite, or did that quote just stick?” Stiles tried to dig a little deeper, sensing a rare willingness to share from the Alpha which his chronic curiosity just couldn’t ignore.

And that’s how they ended up talking about anything and everything until 2AM.

* * *

One thing Stiles had never wasted much thought on was sexuality. Ever since he could remember, he’d liked Lydia. That was all that mattered to him. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder whether maybe there was more to his own identity than he thought.

He blamed Derek for it, naturally. Even before he had started to question himself, he’d thought the werewolf was attractive – unfairly so. Of course, he joked from time to time with Scott or Danny, but that never went farther than friendly jesting.

But since he and Derek started talking more, not about bloodthirsty lizards or werewolf uncles but simply with interest in each other’s thoughts about random things and interests, Stiles caught himself more and more often wondering about more personal things.

For example, whether the werewolf would act like this with a significant other as well or if there was yet another persona he kept locked away except for that person. Whether he would date a human even if it meant keeping part of himself secret. Whether he even wanted to date anymore, after the fiasco with Kate.

How far he would go for the one he loved. In what ways he would express that love. What his real, honest self really looked like.

As much as Stiles tried to push these thoughts away, they kept bugging him. He would never ask them, of course, considering that Derek would probably kick his ass, no matter how much more communicative he may seem.

There was one thing he could be sure of after a while, though. If someone asked him now, he would locate himself on the sexuality scale somewhere near bisexual.

He would still pine after Lydia, probably forever and ever, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sneak appreciative glances at Derek, too, every once in a while. As long as no one noticed, he would be fine.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

That became clear one afternoon when Derek, Stiles and Peter were working at the loft. More precisely when Stiles and Peter were working at the loft and Derek went to get some takeout for them.

“Funny how even smart people can easily give themselves away without even realizing, don’t you think?” Peter asked, once he heard the Camaro’s engine start downstairs.

Stiles frowned, suspicion already rising. “What do you mean?”

Peter chuckled, leaning back and stretching his arms out along the backrest of the sofa. “I mean your heartbeat. And scent. That’s not as strong as it could be, I admit, but it’s still starting to annoy me.”

“I…” Stiles narrowed his eyes, trying not to appear nervous and keep his cool, even though he desperately wanted to get as far away from this conversation and Peter Hale as he could. “I really don’t know what you’re getting at.”

The knowing, dubious smirk spreading on the werewolf’s face made Stiles feel like prey in a trap.

“Oh, I think you do. Maybe you’re not aware of all the signs you give away, but you can’t tell me that your eyes following my nephew every time he enters or leaves the room is a subconscious movement.”

Stiles wanted to punch himself in the face. Preferably so hard he’d faint so he wouldn’t have to stay caught up in this situation.

“Well, maybe your senses and strength weren’t the only things that got damaged when you came back from the dead. Because you’re wrong.”

Peter ignored him with a mild, unpleasant smile. “I thought you liked the little redhead, Lydia. What happened to that?”

The sudden dryness of his throat caused Stiles to swallow. “Nothing happened to that. I like her. Which is none of your business, by the way.”

“Hm.” Peter tilted his head to the side, gaze sweeping over what he could see of Stiles sitting behind the table. “Interesting.”

Stiles desperately wanted to ask what he found so interesting, but he knew that that would be exactly what Peter wanted.

“Yeah, a real headline, huh? Not like half of Beacon Hills didn’t already know that. If you’re quick enough, they might put it on the front page of the local newspaper, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got data to analyze.”

“I doubt they’d print stories from yesterday, but maybe I could offer them a new one, considering humans take a bit longer to figure it out.”

Stiles forced himself not to look up at him. “I guess getting revived didn’t make you any less crazy, so be my guest.”

After a pause, Peter got up from where he’d lounged on the couch and strolled over to the table. Now Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes on the screen but at least he managed not to move otherwise, even as his instinct screamed at him to get as far away as possible.

Some things just leave long-lasting impressions.

One corner of Peter’s mouth pulled up into an amused half-grin. Whatever scent he was picking up from Stiles obviously pleased him.

“I’m just curious about what he’ll do once he figures it out for himself. When it comes to social interaction, he’s a bit slow at times, but maybe I could help him along a bit… Whatever route that would take, I’m sure it will serve as great entertainment.”

Stiles was just about to whip up another snarky comeback as the door was pulled open and the man in question himself entered the loft.

“I got m- Peter, what have you done now?”

“Nothing, I was just making conversation with our lovely detective-in-training here.” He sent another knowing smile in Stiles’ direction before snatching the takeout bag from Derek and returning to his previous position on the sofa.

Derek was left standing next to the coffee table, confused look wandering from Peter to Stiles and back to Peter, while Stiles made a dismissive gesture and hopped off the bar stool.

“What did you say you brought?”

That night, after he returned home and lay down in bed, Stiles’ mind circled around the conversation he’d had with Peter.

Surely, he’d just been trying to make him uncomfortable, right? Just his usual jabs? But he couldn’t convince himself of it. There had been something in the werewolf’s eyes that showed how the wheels had been turning in his head, which had Stiles thinking...

Did he think Derek was attractive? Yes, how could he not? But was he attracted _to_ him?

That qualified for a longer introspective discussion. And Stiles wasn’t sure if he was ready for that quite yet.

The problem wasn’t being attracted to the Alpha, but more… what it would mean and what consequences resulted of that.

If he actually liked Derek… well, he could just as well shovel his own grave. There was no way that would ever end well.

The conclusion Stiles drew from that was it didn’t matter if he was just superficially attracted to him or if he seriously _liked_ him. What mattered was that he kept it to himself. Or… as much as that was possible now that Peter had picked up on it. All he could do was pray that Derek was less attentive.

Little did he know that a couple streets farther west Peter gave Derek a similar speech as he had given it to Stiles a few hours prior…

“Listen, you told me you felt it. Maybe you’re forgetting that I’ve known you for most of your life, but I’m pretty sure that you would never say something like that without a damn good reason so don’t pull back on it now just because you’re scared. That never works, and you know it.” Peter folded his arms in front of his chest, challenging Derek with raised brows and an expectant look in his eyes.

Derek sighed heavily, turning away from the provocative sight of his uncle and gripping the edge of the tabletop.

“I told you, I wasn’t sure. It could’ve been nothing. Also, _him?_ Seriously? It doesn’t make sense. Also, tell me a scenario where that would go down well.”

“It doesn’t matter whether it goes well or not. What matters is that it exists. And something like that, Derek, is incredibly rare. Even among werewolves. Which means that either way, you should at least seek clarity to know for sure.”

The wood groaned underneath the Alpha’s fingers. He had expected a lot of things to happen when he became Alpha, but this wasn’t one of them. Just like dealing with an Alpha Pack hadn’t been one of them.

“Why is it so important to you? When have you ever cared about anyone except yourself?” Derek spat, more out of frustration with himself than anger towards Peter.

“Believe it or not, I care about you. …And I cared about your mother.”

Derek froze. Subconsciously, like a well practiced movement, he listened for Peter’s heartbeat.

“Which is why I promised her to support you. I promised it for Laura and I promised it for you.”

The second he said it out loud, Peter knew he’d said the wrong thing. A wave of anger and contempt flooded his senses immediately afterwards.

“Well, we all know how well that went.” Derek turned around, his eyes glowing. A threat.

Peter recoiled, “No, Derek, wait, you- we- hold on, it’s not-“

“What, you thought I kill you, you come back and you’re forgiven? That we’d be best friends again? That I’d trust you again? Remember the first time I told you I had a special feeling about someone? Remember how it ended?”

With every sentence, Derek took one step towards Peter, cornering him against one of the wooden support beams.

“If you really want to prove to me that you want to help, then you keep your mouth shut and help trying to find Boyd and Erica.”

Peter held up his hands in surrender and nodded, avoiding eye contact. Sometimes his nephew could really be an insufferable brat. As an Alpha even more so.

With a last, half-hearted growl, Derek turned away and walked over to his bed.

“You should go now.”

Peter knew better than to talk back now, so he swiftly left the apartment. He would let Derek brood by himself while he refined his tactics.

After Derek had changed into a pair of sweats, he let himself fall down onto the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. He was just too tired and there were too many things to do.

It had been a mistake to tell Peter. He should’ve known better. Especially because he wasn’t even sure whether the sensation he’d had the other day really meant…

He took a deep breath.

His mother had told him about it when he’d been a teenager. He wouldn’t stop asking questions about the social differences between humans and werewolves. She had said that humans had the concept of soulmates, which came as close as possible, he supposed. But for once, the concept humans had was far more vague than that of the supernatural.

The bond between a werewolf (or any supernatural form of a species belonging to the family of canines; wolves, coyotes and others) wasn’t just an extraordinarily strong relationship. It was a distinct connection with life-altering consequences. ‘You know it when you feel it’, his mother had said.

And if he was really being honest, he _had_ felt it. Just barely, but unmistakably. Maybe it was weaker because Stiles was human… Derek hadn’t had the opportunity to ask what happened if a wolf’s mate was human.

He just really didn’t want to have to deal with this on top of everything else. Not to mention that he hadn’t considered having a relationship other than family and allies in the foreseeable future at all.

He knew he was carrying around way too much baggage already and adding to that sounded like the worst idea of the year – which was saying something.

If only he hadn’t let the boy come so close. It was his own mistake and now he was paying for it.

But it wasn’t too late yet. If he just kept it to himself, maybe it would be enough to push it so far away it wouldn’t interfere with his – or Stiles’ – life.

There were just too many problems scratching their way through his door right now. He would come back to this when – if – he had the time and energy.

The sleep that took over his mind didn’t provide the kind of rest he needed. But then again, it hadn’t in months, so this was nothing new.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Stiles’ dad asked him one morning as the boy entered the kitchen.

“Good morning to you too, dad. And no, I’m not sick. What makes you think that?” Stiles asked, sitting down at the table opposite his father.

The sheriff handed him a plate. “This is the fourth time this week you get up at the same time I do.”

Stiles frowned, “So? Am I not allowed to seize the day?”

“Of course you are but you’re also usually a late sleeper. And it’s 7AM.”

Stiles shrugged while reaching for some toast and jam. “Maybe Scott’s Become-A-Better-Person Program is rubbing off on me, who knows?”

His father observed him for a moment.

“Other than that, any news? Anything you wanna share with your old man?”

Halfway through taking a bite of his toast, Stiles halted, giving his dad a once-over. “What? No, nothing new in the World of Stiles. No happenings. A boring accumulation of nothingness.”

The sheriff nodded and took a bite of his own toast. “And what about that girl you like? Lydia?”

Stiles’ confusion grew by the minute. “Everything as before, why are you interrogating me?”

Now it was the sheriff’s turn to shrug. “Oh, no particular reason. You just seem… happy, is all. You have that look on your face as if… ah, forget it.”

Stiles placed his toast back on his plate. “No, you were- what look?”

His father smiled at him, as if he knew something Stiles didn’t. “It just made me wonder whether there was… you know, a… special someone, is all.”

Stiles’ pointer finger traced a line in the pattern of the tablecloth. He wondered whether it was just a weird coincidence or if there really was a change in his behavior.

“No, there’s… there’s no one, dad. I’m just… enjoying summer vacation. Speaking of which, I gotta go, I promised Scott we’d meet up sooner today to practice lacrosse. See ya later.”

He grabbed the half-eaten toast, a bottle of water and headed for the door.

“Meeting up with Scott, huh?” He heard his dad tease from the kitchen.

“Dad, I’m not interested in Scott.” He couldn’t help but laugh.

His laugh was mirrored down the hall. “Well, how would I know? Anything’s possible.”

“That it is, dad.” Stiles mumbled as he grabbed his keys. “ _That_ it is.”

After the lacrosse practice with Scott, Stiles received a text from Isaac, saying they wouldn’t be at the loft today but train at the old Hale House and that Stiles could still join if he wanted, but Isaac doubted it would be of much interest for him.

Stiles still went, of course, just to spite him.

And maybe because he’d grown to actually appreciate the pack’s company.

Okay, mostly Derek’s company, but still. Peter wouldn’t be there so he didn’t have to fear any creepy comments from him today.

When he arrived, he parked the Jeep next to the Camaro, before checking that the box sitting in the back of the car filled with sandwiches and other snacks he’d brought from home hadn’t fallen over during the drive here.

He felt like a soccer mom and tried his best to ignore that notion.

The two werewolves were nowhere to be seen.

He decided to just wait, so he took some sandwiches wrapped in a paper bag out of the box and sat down on the stairs leading to the front porch of the house.

It only took about ten minutes until a hand suddenly gripping his shoulder almost startled his soul out of his body.

“ _Jesus Christ_ _motherf_ \- Really, Isaac? Was that necessary?” Stiles scolded, hand gripping his t-shirt over his heart. “One of these days one of you sneaky bastards will give me a heart attack.”

Isaac just grinned, snatching the bag that contained two sandwiches Stiles hadn’t eaten yet. “Sorry” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Smells like you brought half a buffet. Thanks, though, I’m starving.”

That became obvious when he scarfed down both sandwiches with four bites in total.

“Thank god, I was worried he’d whine about being hungry until we got home.” Derek announced his presence, dropping down onto the stairs next to Stiles.

“I told you, you should’ve eaten something before we left.” He told Isaac, who just shrugged.

“That’s taken care of, now, isn’t it?”

Derek rolled his eyes, wiping dirt off his jeans. “Yea, you can thank Stiles. Because I would’ve made you walk back home if I’d heard one more complaint from you.”

Stiles tried to hide his amusement. “You’re very welcome, Isaac.”

“I would’ve managed it.” The Beta said, walking over to the Jeep to get more food.

“Didn’t sound like it five minutes ago.” Derek said quietly, so that, if they weren’t werewolves, only Stiles would’ve heard.

He tried to keep the grin off his face as he said, “Taking care of puppies still isn’t your favorite hobby, huh?”

Derek scoffed, “Why, do you not see me thoroughly enjoying trying to teach a bitchy teen wolf essential survival skills?”

Now Stiles couldn’t stop the chuckle bubbling up. There was something about Derek being sarcastic that brought him a special kind of joy.

“I can hear you, you know?” Isaac grumbled, putting the box down in front of them as he sat cross-legged on the ground.

“At least your hearing works as it should, then.” Derek quipped, catching the bag marked as ‘turkey’ that Isaac threw at him.

The Beta’s face did something Stiles would call pouting if it were anyone other than Isaac. It looked so out-of-place that Stiles felt the sudden need to do something about it.

“Don’t be unfair, Sourwolf, I’m sure he didn’t do _that_ bad.”

Stiles expected the raised-eyebrows/know-your-place expression, but instead Derek looked at him, then at Isaac and finally down at his lunch before he admitted, “Not that bad, no. That doesn’t mean he gets to gripe, though.”

Isaac grinned. “Hey, Stiles, wanna join training more often from now on?”

“What, to protect you from your big bad Alpha? I thought a strong, scary werewolf like yourself could do that on his own?”

“I won’t need to if you keep his temper even.”

“That sounds very strategic, indeed-“

“ _Okay_ , you two,” Derek interrupted, the annoyance in his voice only half-serious, “how about you shut the fuck up and eat your food now?!”

“At your command, Mr. Alpha, sir!” Stiles mock-saluted and Isaac had a hard time covering up his chuckle with a cough. The two of them exchanged one more mischievous glance before doing as told.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, mentally asking himself what he’d done to deserve this.

* * *

As the end of summer came closer, though, it got harder and harder for Derek to hide the existence of the Alpha Pack from Stiles. He’d walk in on whispered conversations between Derek and Peter, stumbled upon notes of possible locations and signs associated with them and only begrudgingly accepted Derek’s less-than-sufficient explanations and distractions.

As much as the Alpha hated it – considering the relationship between the two of them had grown into something Derek wouldn’t call friendship but heading in that direction, something akin to companionship – he had to remove the kid from their little search party, if he wanted to keep him (and with him, Scott) away from the other Alphas.

The loss of his two Beta’s had been a wake-up call for him. It was the story of his entire life repeating all over again. He made the wrong decisions and the people around him got hurt. Or even killed.

He'd thought he could manage it, but over time he it got clear to him that he had to put a stop to this. Beginning with those who technically weren’t even part of his pack.

Maybe it would also help getting rid of these other feelings slowly pushing their way into his consciousness – which was ridiculous, the rational part of his mind pointed out, you can’t get rid of a bond between mates. He decided it was worth a try, anyway.

Either way, he had to put a distance between himself and as many of his allies as he could, if it was the only way to save their lives.

After he sent Stiles away, he could smell the anger and irritation for hours after the fight had already ended. If one could even call it a fight… Stiles had a habit of holding his frustration in and letting it eat away at him, spitting out a hurt “Alright. Fine, then.” as if it had left a disgusting taste in his mouth, before slamming the door shut.

It left a hollow feeling in Derek's chest that he'd felt only a couple times before, and he'd really hoped he would never feel it again.

Still, it was better this way, he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lowkey filler, I know, but it was necessary for the build-up and to explain some things.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this mess anyway.  
> Shit gets real next chapter, so I'll try to update as soon as I can despite school.


	3. Like A Force To Be Reckoned With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down, yeehaw.  
> I love to force emotions on my emotionally challenged idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too explicit description of canon-typical wounds!!
> 
> >Note: Erica didn't die, said so in the tags, she's locked up with Boyd and Cora until all three of them escape (stayed as close to canon as I could here)
> 
> If the scene skipping is too confusing, please let me know. (Also doesn't make sense if you haven't watched season 3.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this train wreck :)

The next time they saw each other was when Scott called Stiles to the Hale house, where Derek was tending to Isaac’s wounds after they had saved him from the Alpha's in the hospital.

To Stiles, it felt as if someone had erased the entire summer, as if during the couple weeks after Derek had sent him away, the werewolf had found his old persona again. Cool indifference. It made something queasy curl up within Stiles' guts which he chose to ignore. He took it as a sign to slip back into his usual pattern of discreetly distancing sarcasm, as well.

Except it only took a couple hours and Scott’s curiosity to break that resolve again.

After Scott scratched free the Alpha Pack’s triskelion, Derek had to tell them. And everything clicked into place in Stiles’ mind.

He had been right about the Sourwolf, after all. He wasn’t half as much a douchebag as he was a caring softie. Stiles was sure of it. And now that he knew the reason for Derek’s actions, he could really try to help.

At Scott’s insistent prodding, Derek filled them in on what Peter, Isaac and he had been doing to find Boyd and Erica – careful to leave out any mention of Stiles, who was grateful for that. He made a mental note to update the data on his computer as soon as he could.

Later that night, he sent Derek a text.

>so that’s why u threw me out? the alphas?

A couple minutes later came the answer:

>How do you even have my number?

>Nvm, I think I don’t want to know. And yes.

Stiles grinned at the use of the acronym. His fingers flew across the keyboard.

>can’t get rid of me now then can u?

He didn’t wait for an answer this time and placed his phone on his bedside table.

They could do this. The rule of power in numbers didn’t apply only to werewolves, Stiles knew that. If they all worked together, they could save Boyd and Erica. The Alpha Pack itself was a problem for another day.

* * *

The afternoon of the following day was spent at the loft again. Stiles had invited Scott to the birthday party of his childhood friend Heather for the evening, so he still had a few hours after school to go over all the stuff Derek had kept from him before.

“Derek, your pet is here!” Peter called from the couch, as Isaac opened the door for him.

“Just FYI, I still don’t like you.” Stiles told him, not even looking his way.

Derek came down the stairs, his hair damp, presumably from a previous shower. “Stop bullying the child, Peter. He’s put more effort into helping than you have.”

Stiles wasn’t sure whether he should feel offended or appreciated. He settled for both.

“Isaac is younger than me.” He mumbled, unpacking his laptop and notes on the table. Derek raised his eyebrows at him. “Yea, never mind. Anyway, since I know that basically the most essential information was missing in my research, how about we start by adding that to my notes, huh?”

He couldn’t help but feel a little salty, but that was Derek’s fault for keeping it from him, so Stiles didn’t feel particularly bad for being a bit petty.

“Look, I was just-“ Derek started, but Stiles stopped him.

“I know, Sourwolf. You can make amends by supplying me with all the info I want.” He grinned.

Derek gave him a look that suggested the Alpha was contemplating to murder him but refrained from it. “You get what you need for your nerd-scavenger hunt and that’s it.”

Stiles faked a shocked gasp, “My, how generous! Careful, I might not leave again if you keep up these benevolent offers.”

“I’ll do my best to prevent that.” Derek looked like he was about to have an appointment at the dentist.

“Can we please stop this verbal ping-pong and get to the real problem now, please?” Peter complained from somewhere behind them.

Derek moved a stack of papers marked as ‘checked’ to the side to make room for new notes.

“Hey, what happened to that?” Stiles asked, pointing at three deep notches in the wooden tabletop.

“Isaac got a bit overenthusiastic during last week’s training.” Derek said, sifting through some pictures.

Stiles reached for the indents, his fingertips tracing the edges. “You guys should really be more careful with your claws and stuff. One day the whole table might break.”

All of a sudden, he felt something pull at the palm of his hand, as if it were magnetic. Out of reflex, he pulled his hand away, clutching it to his chest, as he could only stare at the spot where the cracks in the wood slowly closed up and finally disappeared.

For a moment, no one said a word.

Isaac was the one to break the silence.

“Would someone care to tell me what just happened?”

“Stiles?” Derek tried, “how did you do that?”

Stiles couldn’t move his eyes from the spot he’d touched. “I… I would, but… I don’t have a goddamn clue.”

“Well… looks like Lydia isn’t the only anomaly.” Peter commented, though underneath his know-it-all tone there were clear traces of confusion that matched the others’ expressions.

Stiles stared at his hand, then looked up at the others, expression helpless. “I really don’t know what that was. I just… I thought of what it looked like before, and suddenly it just…” he flailed his hands in the direction of the table.

“It’s okay, we…” Derek reached for Stiles’ arm, just barely touching him, as if he was scared of startling him, “we’ll find out what’s up with that. Maybe Deaton can say something about this. Let’s just… concentrate on the task, for now.”

Stiles nodded, absent-mindedly touching his palm where it still tingled. “Yeah… Yes, alright.”

The events of next days, however, pushed the occurrence to the backs of their minds.

* * *

Maybe what Derek had once said about the universe balancing things out applied to more than just the supernatural, Stiles wondered. Perhaps none of them had been meant to die that night, because Scott and especially Derek had gotten hurt trying to save the moon-crazy Beta’s, but in the end all of them had survived.

With a big thanks to Derek’s supposedly dead sister Cora, as Scott had filled Stiles in the day after the full moon.

With three rogue Beta’s instead of the assumed two, Argent and the three werewolves must’ve had a hell of a job. If Cora hadn’t managed to get her human side back online in the boiler room and help Derek keep Boyd and Erica in check, Stiles didn’t even want to imagine what might’ve happened.

Luckily, that was in the past now, though. The three Beta’s were quickly recovering and Derek had a chance to renew his ties with his sister.

The perfect chance for Stiles to do some investigating on his own.

He knew the others probably wouldn’t approve, for lots of reasons. The most bugging one was that they probably didn’t have much confidence – if any at all – in his abilities. He might not have fangs or claws or the physical abilities it took to fight werewolves, but he still had his mind, a bat, and a full roll of tape. Watch him.

And what reason would the Alphas have to still hang around the empty bank building, anyway? All he wanted was to find something, anything, to help. He had no clue what exactly he would be searching for as he pulled up in front of the building in the Jeep on that Saturday afternoon, but the worst case scenario would be he hung around for a couple hours, end up with nothing and drive back home. Nothing gained, nothing lost. The others wouldn’t even have to know.

Fortunately for him, the chains on the main door Allison had destroyed still hadn’t been replaced with new ones.

He checked his pockets again: His phone, several plastic bags just in case he found something that shouldn’t touch anything else, a flashlight, his tape - because, why not? He tightened the grip around his bat. _Here goes nothing._

Barely any sunlight could filter through the covered-up windows, causing the entire hall to be doused in an eerie twilight. He was pleased at the fact that it did look a lot like a secret hideout, Peter could fuck off.

In the entry hall, he could find nothing extraordinary that looked like it might help them in any way. He had expected as much, but the prospect of exploring the rooms in the back still sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

It was no use.

He took a deep breath, gathering all his courage and determination, and climbed the stairs which – according to the ground plan he’d memorized beforehand – led to the vault.

The deeper he went, the harder his heart seemed to beat and he cursed himself for fulfilling every expectation the others probably had of him. Yes, he was scared, but he would prove his worth.

At every tiny sound, he looked around, feeling ridiculously paranoid. To counteract these mostly irrational fears, he tried to remind himself how chemical mechanisms worked in situations of stress and fear.

_Adrenaline and noradrenaline belong to the catecholamines and are nerve messengers (neurotransmitters) that have an excitatory effect on the sympathetic nervous system (part of the autonomic nervous system). They accelerate the supply of energy short-term. This is reflected in accelerated heart activity, increase in blood pressure, release of glucose and increased blood circulation in the muscles._

Then, about 15 feet ahead, in an open doorway, he spotted dark splotches on the floor. It didn’t take a forensic to guess that it was blood.

Slowly, he approached, letting out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as he saw that the blood had dried up quite some time ago. Maybe it was from one of the Beta’s.

He took out his flashlight in order to inspect the room the doorway led into. It seemed to be a storage closet which exhibited no other unusual details, so he kept walking.

A quiet sound behind him made him stop dead in his tracks. He tried to listen as closely as he could over the sound of his own heartbeat, deafening in his ears.

After two minutes of silence, he decided it was probably just his imagination.

The back of his t-shirt was damp with sweat and an unpleasant feeling was spreading in his stomach.

_Normally, adrenaline and noradrenaline are continuously released into the blood in small amounts. In stress and anxiety situations, however, a high-dose release occurs. The most important task of the hormones adrenaline and noradrenaline is to mobilize stored chemical energy such as fat or glycogen and to support the absorption of glucose into the body cells in order to provide sufficient energy for increased muscle activity._

The end of the hallway opened onto a landing framed by a railing. As soon as it was in reach, Stiles gripped it tightly to ground himself.

There was nothing here to be afraid of, he kept reminding himself. Just his brain misinterpreting its job, that was all.

He walked down the stairs, from which he could now see the open vault in which they’d kept Erica, Boyd and Cora.

Out of nowhere, he felt that weird pull in his fingertips he’d felt at Derek’s loft. He hadn’t had a chance to ask Deaton about it yet.

Something Derek had told him a while ago rang in his head. _When in doubt, trust your instinct_.

It made sense, he supposed. _One’s subconscious picks up on much more than one is aware of_ , after all.

And somehow, he felt like he was supposed to be here… Something was pulling him forward, and he was determined to find out what it was.

But just as he was about to reach out to touch the metal door of the vault, an unnaturally deep growl stopped him, a wave of dread washing over his spine.

As he slowly turned around, he was faced with a tall, bulky guy. Stiles’ breath got stuck in his throat. The man bared his teeth, revealing sharp fangs.

The eyes that glared down at Stiles were glowing red.

Derek was alone at the loft when the call reached him.

The first thing that struck him as odd was that Stiles never called him. He hated calling, so he always texted.

Derek sat up on the sofa and pressed the green button.

“Stiles?”

“De- Derek? Are you there?” Stiles was breathing heavily and his voice sounded weak. Every alarm bell in Derek’s head started ringing.

“Yes, what’s wrong?”

“I… I’m sorry, I just wanted…” he audibly winced and Derek subconsciously mirrored the expression, “Can… can you come pick me up? M-my leg is… kinda messed up. I think he’s gone, I think- If he’s still here, I’m sure you can locate his heartbeat or something. Ah, damn it… if he’s here, don’t come in. I don’t… I don’t know why, I just- I’m sorry.”

Derek was already up and grabbing his car keys.

“Stiles, listen. Where are you? I’m on my way.”

“At the bank. The vault. I don’t know if it’s safe, though, Derek.”

He pulled the loft’s door closed behind him, “It’s fine, I’m on my way. What happened, how badly are you hurt?”

He tried to keep Stiles talking, he had to collect as much info as he could.

“I…” Stiles’ breathing got heavier again, as if something he was doing required all his strength, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“Stiles, how badly?!”

The engine of the Camaro started with a roar.

“Just… my leg. I don’t think it’s broken. It’s bleeding. Not too bad, though. Nothing too bad.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up to fully concentrate on driving.

What the hell had happened?

When Derek arrived, he had already mentally discarded Stiles’ warning. The boy was hurt, had been attacked as it seemed, and Derek wasn’t gonna wait around to scout the place for possible enemies.

The moment he entered the vault hall, the coppery scent of blood hit his nose. There were smears of it on the tiles.

“Stiles?”

“…over here,” Stiles’ weak voice answered him.

To Derek’s left, a few feet ahead, he could see Stiles’ shoulder where he sat leaning against a column.

With three quick steps, Derek was kneeling in front of him.

The right leg of his pants was torn and bloody at his thigh, matching his left shoulder and hip, the claw marks underneath the shredded clothing clearly visible. He was clutching his arm with sticky, crimson fingers.

“Stiles, what happened?” Derek reached out, not quite daring to touch.

“I’m sorry.” Stiles sniffed, his cheeks wet from tears he’d failed to fight. Another failure. “I didn’t think any of them were still here. I just- I wanted to help.”

“The Alphas…” Derek said quietly, more to himself than Stiles.

“Just one of them.”

A deep, focused inhale through his nose told Derek what he needed to know.

“Ennis.”

“Is that his name?” Stiles asked, wincing when he tried to sit up. “Well, he owes me a new The Who shirt.”

“Stiles, what’s with your arm?” Derek noticed the boy’s heartbeat speed up.

“Um…” Stiles evaded the Alpha’s gaze, stress clear in his scent.

“What did he do?” Derek pressed further, a low growl underlying his voice without him realizing.

Stiles whimpered.

“Please… don’t tell Scott.” He said, voice cracking. As he lifted his hand, Derek forgot to breathe for a second.

On Stiles arm, just above the elbow, was a bite mark.

After what felt like an eternity, Derek managed to look away from the still bloody wound and up at Stiles’ face, which wore an expression as if he expected Derek to finally make good on his threat and rip his throat out.

“We’ll…” the Alpha cleared his throat as his voice came out dry and scratchy, “We’ll fix this. Somehow. Don’t worry, we… Deaton, we’ll go to Deaton. Get the wounds treated.”

Stiles nodded shakily.

“Can you stand? Walk?” Derek asked, carefully helping the boy to his feet.

The moment Derek’s fingers touched his skin, Stiles felt the same kind of pull he had earlier, and at the loft. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he probably would’ve given it more thought.

His leg gave out on the first step, so Derek put Stiles’ arm across his shoulders and held his waist to support him, mindful not to touch the wound there.

The car ride to the vet clinic was quiet, for neither of them knew what would happen now and how they should handle it.

Deaton was surprisingly quiet on the matter while he cleaned and bandaged Stiles’ wounds. He asked about what happened exactly, and now that Stiles had had time to calm down, he told the story with a clear voice and a face that didn’t let his emotions show.

Derek could still smell them from where he was leaning against the wall, though.

Fear. Stress. Shame. Anger; probably directed mostly at himself.

It made Derek’s blood boil.

Another person hurt because of him.

And another person, who became so suddenly and inexplicably important to him, that Ennis attacked because they got caught up in Derek’s mess.

Stiles’ voice pulled him back out of his thoughts.

“The fact that nothing hurts more than it’s supposed to and that I’m not dying yet is a good sign, right?”

“You’re not gonna die.” Derek snarled without even making the conscious decision to do so. His eyes were fixed on Stiles’, determination seeming to sharpen his features.

“It does look like you’re going to be alright, Stiles.” Deaton agreed, examining the bite. “Could you hand me that glass behind you?”

Stiles did as asked, holding out one of those little bottles Deaton usually kept the supernatural stuff in. Maybe something to heal the bite faster, Stiles mused.

Deaton didn’t take it, though, but stared at it as if it had grown legs.

“What?” Stiles asked, though he didn’t need an answer anymore as he saw what the doc found so interesting.

The powder – whatever it was – inside the bottle stuck to the glass exactly where Stiles’ fingers touched it. Only now did he recognize the sensation prickling in his hand, stronger than the times before.

Stiles experimentally moved his thumb up and down; the powder followed, as if magnetized.

“What- What’s going on?” came Derek’s quiet voice from behind Deaton. “What’s happening to him?”

Deaton smiled reassuringly at Stiles before finally taking the bottle. “I had an inkling this would happen sometime…”

“Okay, but what _is_ happening?!” Stiles asked, moving his fingers to get rid of the tingle. “Am I poisoned or something?”

Deaton chuckled, wrapping the bite in wound dressing. “No, nothing like that. You may be relieved to hear that you’re not going to turn into a werewolf, either.”

Both Stiles and Derek just stared at Deaton, until Derek asked, “Then what the hell is going on with him?”

Deaton gave Derek another one of his well-practiced, carefully-polite smiles, then turned to Stiles.

“Remember when I gave you the task of putting a mountain ash circle around the rave building when you tried to catch Jackson?”

Stiles nodded, “Yea, you said it would work if I believed in it. And somehow…”

“…somehow, it did?” Deaton finished. “It’s true that the power of will can achieve extraordinary things. But back then, I did suspect you had a small - but not to be dismissed - advantage.”

“And that’s… what? I turn normal dust into fairy dust?”

“You did it at the loft, too, remember?” Derek asked, moving forward to stand next to Stiles. At Deaton’s questioning expression, Derek elaborated. “At the loft, the was a notch in the table from training with Isaac. Stiles touched it and it just…”

“Vanished?” Deaton supplied. They both nodded. “Stiles, remember what metaphor I used when I told you what to do with the mountain ash?”

“You said I had to be a… a spark…”

“While it is true that anyone – except the supernatural, of course – who believes in it, is able to use mountain ash as a barrier to keep the supernatural in or out. But even then, there are certain limits to what they could do. For example, imagine you’d only had a handful of it and had to circle the entire building. No human, no matter how strong their belief, could’ve made that work.”

“And you’re saying that I could’ve?”

“Let’s say I’ve never seen it happen, but I’d estimate the probability of it working for your kind as very high.”

“My kind?” Stiles felt like his brain was going to overload and log off.

“We don’t have a word for it. Yet. You’re basically human, with just a little…”

“Spark?”

“Exactly. I think the bite might have amplified it.”

“For how long have you known about this?” Derek asked the doc, a kind of urgency in his voice.

“I didn’t know it, I just had a suspicion. I can’t pinpoint since when, exactly.”

Derek sighed. “Is that common knowledge for the supernatural or is that another thing my mother hid from me?” He looked at Deaton in a way that it was obvious to the vet what he left unsaid.

_Like she hid your existence from me for years?_

“I don’t know what she knew, Derek, but not many people of your kind that I’ve met knew of it.”

Derek nodded, something obviously working in his head. He turned around and went over to the other side of the room, sinking back into his thoughts again.

Suddenly, as if out of reflex, Stiles raised a hand to his chest. Just for a second, it felt as if something was very lightly pulling at his ribcage.

Derek’s head snapped up to look at him.

After a moment of silence, Deaton let out a barely audible “oh…”.

“What?” Stiles asked, confusion written all over his face. “Is… is this part of that whole… spark-thing, too? Because I feel like I’m missing something and I really don’t like that feeling.”

Stiles felt more than a bit left out as Derek and Deaton seemed to have a nonverbal conversation through looks alone.

“So you already know.” The doc said to Derek, ignoring Stiles.

Derek cast a quick glance at the boy. “Don’t.”

“Um, guys? I’m still here. Could one of you please tell me what’s going on?” Stiles tried again. An uneasy feeling began to spread in his guts.

“Derek, he has to know. He’ll find out anyway.”

The Alpha appeared agitated, reminding Stiles of a caged animal, as he took a deep breath.

“You tell him, then.” The Alpha finally said, his voice sounding unusually defeated and tired.

Deaton sighed as if he was dealing with an impervious child.

“Stiles, you just felt something like… a tug, right? Very lightly?”

Stiles nodded, “Please tell me that wasn’t some other kind of magic trick I need to learn because I’m too mentally exhausted for that.”

“It’s not directly linked to your… abilities, Stiles. Though you probably feel it more than ordinary humans would. It’s very rare. And I’m not sure if it’s revocable. It probably won’t have as much effect on you as it would on, say, a werewolf,” at this, Deaton’s gaze flicked over at Derek for a second, who watched him as if he was reading his death sentence, “but I don’t know for sure how much you would feel of it as long as you don’t… complete it.”

“Okay,” Stiles said slowly, eyes narrowed, “you’ve told me everything about it except what it is, as usual. What is it? And what does Derek have to do with it? You guys start to creep me out.”

“It’s a bond.” Derek blurted out, his patience apparently having reached its limit.

“A bond?” Stiles repeated, “A bond of what kind, exactly? Like, a pack bond?”

“Not necessarily. It…” Derek’s resolve was exhausted as quickly as it had emerged, so Deaton took over again.

“As I said, it’s exceptionally rare. It’s a kind of… mental as well as emotional bond between two individuals, at least one of which must be a shapeshifter, as far as I’m aware.”

“Wait, so-“ Stiles said, then stopped, trying to wrap his head around all the information flooding his mind. “You mean, like… supernatural soulmates?”

Derek almost cringed.

Deaton smiled sympathetically, “You could describe it as such.”

Stiles thought it over. As it registered, his eyes widened and quickly moved back and forth between the two others. “So, what you’re trying to tell me is that I’m magic-bound to Derek?”

Now Derek couldn’t fight back the cringe that distorted his face. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t think, it- I mean… it’s not like I can control it or stop it. I didn’t think you’d ever feel it. If Ennis hadn’t-“

“Hey, Sourwolf, calm down. You sound like I’m gonna call my dad on you. I understand that it’s no one’s fault. We- we’ll figure this out. We figure everything out, don’t we?” Stiles hoped the smile he tried looked more convincing than he felt.

A lot of tension seemed to bleed out of Derek at these words, “I hope so.” He mumbled.

“How about you two get some rest? Both of you obviously need it.” Deaton recommended, helping Stiles on his feet from where he was still sitting on the vet’s table.

“Good idea,” Stiles let out a deep breath. “Ah, damn it…”

“What is it?” Derek asked, replacing Deaton’s hand with his own on Stiles’ non-damaged arm.

“My dad… he’s home tonight. And I’m limping as if I have arthritis, which he probably won’t believe as an excuse… fuck.”

“You could stay at the loft and go home tomorrow, maybe it’s healed more then.” Derek suggested, looking embarrassed. He quickly added, “I don’t mind taking the couch. Isaac will come home later, as well.”

Stiles smiled, grateful that he didn’t have to go home. And that Derek wasn’t so uncomfortable around him now that he didn’t want him in his space anymore. Maybe everything really would be okay.

“That’d be great, thanks. I don’t mind taking the couch either, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this far!! The kind responses are awesome motivation.
> 
> So yea, I hope you're still enjoying this, I'll update again as soon as I can c:


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